


you don't have to sing it right (but who could call you wrong)

by lincyclopedia



Series: Samwell Men's Harmonies (the a cappella AU) [2]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Music, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Implied/Referenced Incest, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Larissa "Lardo" Duan, Other, POV Third Person, POV Third Person Limited, Present Tense, but they're still at Samwell, in the form of shitty talking about lord byron's actual life, super brief enbyphobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:54:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28201215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lincyclopedia/pseuds/lincyclopedia
Summary: Larissa joins SMH, the a cappella group formerly known as Samwell Men’s Harmonies, and figures out their gender.
Relationships: Adam "Holster" Birkholtz & Larissa "Lardo" Duan & Justin "Ransom" Oluransi, Larissa "Lardo" Duan & Jack Zimmermann, Larissa "Lardo" Duan & John Johnson, Larissa "Lardo" Duan/Shitty Knight
Series: Samwell Men's Harmonies (the a cappella AU) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2049012
Comments: 20
Kudos: 27





	you don't have to sing it right (but who could call you wrong)

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. Although this is the second work in a series, I'm pretty sure it stands alone. I think [the first work in the series](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27976068) is fun, but you don't need to read it to understand this. 2. The pronouns switch when Lardo's sure they want to go by they/them, because this is in close third, present tense, from Lardo's POV. I'm nonbinary (despite my username) and I've given this some thought. Please don't come at me about it in the comments. 3. Thanks (as is becoming usual) to [OrSaiKellieLonore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrSaiKellieLonore) for cheer-reading most of this.

When Larissa arrives at Samwell, as soon as her parents leave after helping her move in, she finds the art building on her campus map and walks there. She spends a while peering into studios and pinching herself because _she’s going to get to use this stuff_ —these pottery wheels and that kiln and those canvases—and then she walks to the music building. She’s not quite as interested in music as she is in visual art, but it’s a close second. 

Her high school didn’t have a great music program, but she and some of her high school friends messed around with music a lot, calling themselves a band at one point even though Allie and Mara couldn’t play any instruments, leaving Larissa to play either piano or drums because she couldn’t do both at once. Eventually they roped Erica, Lily, and Lucy into joining them, at which point there were enough voices to be an a cappella group. Their high school already had an all-boys wannabe a cappella group called Singing Bros, so Allie suggested the name Singing Bras, which everyone agreed to, half to piss off their parents. Larissa doesn’t love singing, to be honest, but she has a great sense of rhythm and enjoys beatboxing, which was her main role in Singing Bras. 

There are posters up in the music building listing audition times for the jazz band and for three a cappella groups: Agatha, the Well Well Wells, and Samwell Men’s Harmonies. Larissa ignores Samwell Men’s Harmonies but puts the audition times for Agatha and the Well Well Wells into her phone calendar. She considers auditioning to play piano in the jazz band as well, but she’d rather beatbox than play piano, and she doesn’t want to commit to multiple extracurricular music ensembles. Besides, she’s heard some things about jazz band musicians being super intense, and she’s not sure she feels that way about music. Painting, sure, but not music. 

In the end, though, she doesn’t even get to audition for either Agatha or the Well Well Wells. They both already have beatboxers, and the presidents of both groups offer to hear her sing, but she tells them she doesn’t want to sing and that’s the end of that—or so she thinks. The following week, a guy with brown hair in her gen ed English class catches her on the way out of class and says, “Hey. Larissa, right?”

“Yeah,” says Larissa apprehensively. 

“I’m John Johnson. I’m a bass in the a cappella group SMH, and we kind of have a problem. Our beatboxer graduated last year and no one auditioned to replace him. I talked to the presidents of Agatha and the Well Well Wells and they both said you tried to audition for them but they turned you down. Would you be interested in auditioning for SMH?”

Larissa stares at him. “SMH stands for Samwell _Men’s_ Harmonies, right?”

John tips his heads back and forth. “That’s where the acronym comes from, but we don’t refer to ourselves that way very often anymore because we wanted to be more open to different gender identities as long as people can sing tenor, baritone, or bass. Or beatbox, in which case vocal range doesn’t really matter. Given that you wanted to audition for Agatha, I’m guessing you identify as a woman, and like, I get it if you don’t want to sing with a bunch of guys, since at this point we are all dudes. But we’d like to have you, if your audition goes well, if you want to try out.” 

“If you don’t refer to yourselves as Samwell Men’s Harmonies very often, why was it on the posters?” Larissa asks. 

John groans. “I told Jack not to do that. He’s our new president, and he’s a sophomore. He’s not sexist or transphobic, I promise. He’s just still a little new to this, and he thought people would be confused by an unfamiliar acronym.”

Larissa wrinkles her nose. “I’ll think about it.” 

“Can I give you my number?” John asks. “I won’t ask for yours, but this way you can ask for more information if you want it. Our first rehearsal is Thursday night at seven in room 201 in the music building. It’d be ’swawesome if you showed up, but no hard feelings if you don’t.”

Larissa fishes out her phone and unlocks it before handing it to John. He inputs his number without adding a contact picture or any emojis next to his name; he’s just John Johnson, with a 612 area code. When he returns the phone, Larissa gives him a small smile and heads back to her dorm to think. 

So she wants to beatbox. She’s pretty bummed that neither Agatha nor the Well Well Wells had space for her. And she’s always been comfortable hanging out with guys—maybe more comfortable than she is with girls, honestly, Singing Bras notwithstanding. She’s just not sure that she believes what John said about this Jack guy. If he’s a bigoted jerk, she’ll leave and never look back. If he’s not . . . well. Maybe she’ll join SMH. 

Thursday night at seven finds Larissa in room 201 of the music building, facing nine guys, fiddling with the straps of her backpack. 

“What’s she doing here?” a tall blond guy asks. 

“Given that they’re auditioning for SMH—and given that they’re a human we haven’t met before, honestly—maybe we should ask their pronouns before assuming they use she/her,” says a guy with a mustache. 

“I use she/her,” says Larissa before the guys can get into an argument. She hadn’t heard anyone introduce themselves with their pronouns until Samwell, but it’s one of the many things she’s learned to do in the past couple weeks. “Name’s Larissa.”

“Larissa’s here because she’s a beatboxer,” says a guy with dark brown hair and light blue eyes. “She wanted to try out for Agatha and the Well Well Wells, but they both have beatboxers already, and we don’t since Keegan graduated last year. So John suggested we invite Larissa to audition for us.” He stops looking at the guys and makes eye contact with Larissa instead. “Hi. I’m Jack Zimmermann, president of SMH. I’m glad you came.” 

“Are we going to have to stop going by Samwell Men’s Harmonies if she joins?” asks another guy. 

“We can just be SMH,” says John, in a tone that brooks no dissent. 

“Yeah, it’s probably time we stop referring to ourselves by a gender anyway,” says Mustache Guy, eyes on Jack. 

“I hear you,” Jack mutters. Louder, he says, “Okay, Larissa, I’d like to hear you alone first, and then maybe those of us who were here last year can sing something we already know and see if you can lay down a beat. Nothing too fancy, just to see if you can keep your focus while people are singing around you.” 

Larissa considers him for a second. He seems like kind of a grump, if not worse, but she’s gotten good vibes from John and Mustache Guy, at least so far. She figures she’ll just audition, join if they let her, and then quit and leave them high and dry without a beatboxer if Jack turns out to be horrible. 

She taps her foot a few times to get a beat going in her head, and then she brings her hands to her mouth and begins to beatbox. The room, which was already quiet, stills; all nine of the guys are looking at her. She thinks this is a good thing and forces herself to continue even though she doesn’t love the spotlight. After what feels like an age but is probably under a minute, she slows to a stop and relaxes, letting her arms fall to her sides. 

The room practically explodes in cheers; everyone is clapping. “Holy fuck!” yells Mustache Guy. “Jack, Jack, we have to let her join.” 

Jack sighs, but he’s still clapping. “That was great, Larissa,” he says. “Do you know the song ‘Sweet Caroline’?”

Larissa rolls her eyes. “Who doesn’t?”

“Cool,” says Jack. “Justin, Adam, I know you don’t know this arrangement. Everybody else, I know it’s been a while, so just do your best, okay? We’re not performing here; we just want to give Larissa something to beatbox to.” Jack goes over to the piano, plays a couple of notes, and then begins to sing.

Whatever else may be true about Jack, he’s got a great voice. Larissa forgets her role for a few seconds, just listening to him do the solo. Then she remembers why she’s here and lays down a beat. She doesn’t anticipate every turn this particular arrangement takes, but she does know the song, and she feels like she does well enough and keeps up with the guys for the most part. 

When the song is over, the two guys who didn’t sing—Justin and Adam, apparently, though she isn’t sure which is which—clap and cheer. Mustache Guy slaps Jack on the back hard enough that it sounds painful, but Jack’s smiling. “Congratulations, Larissa,” he says. “You’ve just earned a spot in SMH.” 

“Cool,” she replies. 

John hands out some sheet music while Jack goes over rehearsal times and performance dates and says to let him know if anyone in the group is planning on studying abroad in the spring, so he can make plans to hold additional auditions in December. Then Jack says, “Adam, you said you play piano, right?” 

“For the record, so do I,” says Larissa. 

“Oh,” says the blond giant. “Do you want to play warmups? I used to do it for my high school’s theater department before musical rehearsal, but if you’ve got experience too, we could switch off or whatever.” 

“I’m good for now,” says Larissa.

“Okay,” says Adam, only now moving toward the piano at the front of the room. He sits down and starts playing arpeggios, and everyone sings along. Larissa is suddenly very aware that she’s in a different octave than everyone else. She’s not even sure she needs to do the vocal warmups, since she’s not really going to sing, just beatbox, but she sings along for now, just in case. 

The arrangements SMH sings are definitely more complex than Larissa is used to from Singing Bras, and it seems like they’re expected to learn the music faster, too. When Larissa realizes this, she forces herself to take a deep breath and remember that college is supposed to be harder than high school and singing at Samwell is supposed to be more intense than messing around with her friends. She signed up for this. She can do this. She doesn’t have a perfect rehearsal, but she thinks she does okay. 

This impression is confirmed when Mustache Guy follows her out of rehearsal and says, “Larissa! Fuckin’ sick beats!” 

Larissa rolls her eyes. “Thanks.” 

“I’m serious, dude,” he says. “My name is Byron, unfortunately. It’s great to meet you.” 

Larissa laughs in spite of herself. “Do you always introduce yourself with ‘My name is Byron, unfortunately’?”

Byron chuckles a little, too. “Ever since I found out Lord Byron probably slept with his half-sister and definitely did a bunch of other fucked-up stuff to women, yeah. Like, I get that it was the only name my chauvinist father and English professor mother could agree on, but it’s a shitty name.” 

Larissa makes a face. “Ew. I did not need to know that about your namesake.” 

Byron makes a face, too. “Sorry.” 

Larissa shrugs. “Chill, it’s whatever.” 

“Cool,” says Byron. “Can I have your number? We’ve got an SMH group chat, and we’ve already added Adam and Justin to it because they filled out their phone numbers on their audition sheets, but obviously you didn’t fill out an audition sheet, so.” 

“Okay,” says Larissa. When Byron doesn’t immediately offer his phone, she says, “I’m gonna need your phone, unless you want me to write my number down on paper or something.” 

“Oh, right,” says Byron, rummaging in his pocket. He unlocks his phone and hands it over. His background is a picture of him and Jack, which Larissa notes to herself without commenting on it out loud. She puts her number in and hands the phone back. “Thanks,” Byron says. “See you next week?”

“Yep,” Larissa replies. 

The next day, Larissa’s eating lunch alone in the dining hall—she’s already decided she doesn’t really like her roommate much, and she hasn’t met all that many other people yet—when Adam and Justin plop down across from her, trays laden with way more food than Larissa could eat in a whole day, let alone one sitting. 

“Cool if we sit here?” Justin asks, after Adam has already started eating. 

“Yeah,” says Larissa, chuckling a bit as Adam continues to shove food in his mouth. 

“’Swawesome,” says Justin, tucking into his food as well. After a couple bites, he says, “You’re a first-year, right?”

“Yep,” says Larissa. “Are you first-years, too?”

“Yeah,” says Adam. 

“But he’s 20,” says Justin, pointing at Adam. “Dude was in a touring production of _Spring Awakening_ after high school.” 

Adam bats away Justin’s pointing finger. “Yeah, yeah. You don’t have to tell everyone we meet.” 

“Why not? You are, like, so legit, bro,” Justin says. 

“Whatever,” says Adam. “ _You_ were valedictorian of your high school, and you’re going to be a kickass doctor someday.” He looks at Larissa and adds, “He’s pre-med.” 

Larissa wonders how they already know these things about each other, how they already seem fondly exasperated with each other, how they’re already a “we.” Larissa barely feels like she’s met anyone here, let alone made actual friends. But she doesn’t want to seem pathetic, so she doesn’t say any of this out loud. Instead, she says, “I’m pretty sure I’m gonna be an art major.” 

“’Swawesome,” says Adam. 

“What do you think you’ll do, musical theater?” Larissa asks him. 

“Nah,” Adam says. “Not enough job security. Maybe I’ll do it as a minor or something. For my major I’ll probably study something business-y. I dunno, econ or something.” 

Larissa can’t fathom studying something for the job security, especially not if you’re talented enough to be in a touring theater production for two years, but she knows that’s the wrong thing to say, so she shrugs and says, “I guess that makes sense.”

“No shade on your plan to be an art major,” Adam says. Damn, Larissa’s facial expression must have been pretty transparent. “It’s just that I’ve had a taste of that life already, and I know it’s not for me. It can totally be for you, though. That’s chill.” 

“Thanks,” says Larissa. 

The next Monday, Adam and Justin join Larissa for lunch again. It happens again on Wednesday, and Larissa starts to think it’s going to be a thing. The group chat has been pretty quiet, with a few people—probably the upperclassmen—making what are probably inside jokes (poorly made memes that all say either “Henry doesn’t have a shirt on” or “that’s an odd place to put a piano”) and Jack—Larissa’s pretty sure it’s Jack, but she doesn’t actually have anyone’s number other than John’s, so it’s basically all guesswork—asking if anyone can find or make a cappella arrangements of specific songs. 

There’s another rehearsal on Thursday because there’ll be rehearsal every Thursday of the semester, and that’s when Larissa realizes she’s going to need to practice her music outside of rehearsal, because she doesn’t learn music fast enough to pick everything up just during an hour and a half every Thursday night. By this point she does at least have Adam and Justin’s numbers, and since Adam’s a tenor and Justin’s a bass she thinks the three of them could have fairly effective practice sessions. It at least seems like a better idea than trying to find YouTube videos of SMH’s arrangements, or at least videos that are close enough, and beatboxing to them in her dorm or something. 

It takes some schedule wrangling, but Tuesday morning at nine becomes the first-year SMH members’ mini-rehearsal time. Adam is a better pianist than Larissa and tends to pluck out parts when he or Justin have trouble. It’s a little frustrating to rehearse with them, given that Larissa can’t really lay down a beat when Adam and Justin are too wrapped up in trying to find their notes to pay attention to their rhythm, but it’s better than nothing, by a long shot. Adam and Justin are roommates and best friends, and Larissa knows she doesn’t really have a shot at entering their dynamic, but the three of them have a dynamic, too, and Larissa is probably better friends with Adam and Justin than with any of the people in her classes, though Claire and AJ from her drawing class might come close. 

So joining SMH was a good decision. No question. There’s just one thing Larissa minds, and it’s the way some of the guys refer to her as “the girl beatboxer.” She thinks she just minds because it’s so othering, so obviously a way of separating her from the rest of SMH, but then one evening her dorm has a floor meeting, and only one of her RAs is there. First-year floors have two RAs each, and Larissa has known from day one that she trusts Katherine a hell of a lot more than she trusts Rose, but Katherine is at rugby practice, so it’s just Rose running the meeting. Katherine is always careful to use gender-neutral language, but Rose keeps referring to everyone as “ladies” and “girls,” and she suggests that they all go grab nail polish from their rooms and have an impromptu “girls’ night.” Something inside Lardo breaks.

Larissa leaves when everyone else does, but instead of grabbing nail polish from her room (she doesn’t have any, anyway), she texts Byron. (She has everyone’s number in SMH at this point.) She doesn’t know him super well, but he talks about being a Women’s and Gender Studies major basically all the time. It can get obnoxious, and sometimes he talks over people with lived experience in the thing he’s ranting about, but it almost always seems like his heart is in the right place, and he probably knows more terms for what Larissa’s feeling than Larissa does, and Larissa would rather have a conversation about this—as terrifying as that is—than throw herself upon the mercy of Google. 

Larissa: _hey i know this is kind of out of the blue but i could really use someone to talk to, like asap_

Larissa: _i promise i’m not in danger and i’ll be okay if you’re busy_

Larissa: _but if you’re not too busy i’d really appreciate it if we could meet up and talk tonight_

Byron: _Dude, of course._

Byron: _Do you want to grab a group study room at the library or head to Annie’s?_

Larissa: _annie’s sounds good_

She overthinks the message as soon as she sends it, of course. She doesn’t mean this as a date. It hasn’t escaped her notice that Byron’s attractive, but she doesn’t know him super well, plus she wants to be in SMH for the rest of the year if not the rest of her college career, and Byron probably does too; anything romantic or sexual would risk making that awkward. Will Byron assume this is a date? He’s gone on rants about how men need to stop assuming that women exist for their sexual gratification, which hopefully means he knows better than to assume, but . . .

Despite her second-guessing, Larissa puts on her coat and hat and walks to Annie’s. Byron’s already there when she arrives. The place is nearly empty—it’s eight p.m., midterms have already happened, and finals aren’t for another few weeks—and Byron is sitting at a table in the corner with a mug and a cookie on a plate in front of him. Larissa orders herself a hot chocolate and joins Byron once she has it in hand. 

“Hey,” says Byron, his tone gentler than Larissa’s ever heard it. “How are you doing?”

Larissa makes a face. “I don’t know how to answer that.” 

“Gotcha,” says Byron, leaning back. “What’s up?” 

Larissa fiddles with her mug. 

“You don’t have to tell me,” Byron says after a few moments of Larissa not talking. “I can tell you about my day or whatever, or just shut up and exist across from you, if all you wanted was company.” 

“No,” says Larissa. “I want to talk to you about this. I just—I don’t know how to put it into words. Like, I think it’s been there for a while—at least since I joined SMH, if not forever—but, like, I haven’t been thinking about it at all, really, until tonight.” 

“Okay,” says Byron. He takes a sip of his drink. He’s eyeing Larissa calmly. 

“So . . . ugh. Okay. I think . . . well, I don’t think I’m a guy. I’m not 100% sure about that, but like, I’m pretty confident? But since I came to Samwell I’ve learned that the options aren’t just guy and girl, and I think, in the back of my mind, I’ve been wondering . . . like, I enjoy being ‘one of the guys’ with SMH, and I don’t think that makes me a man, but . . .” 

“Is my role here responding or just listening?” Byron asks. 

“Um, both?” says Larissa. “As long as I can tell you to shut up if need be.” 

“Of course,” says Byron. After a sip of his drink, he says, “So it sounds like there’s a gendered aspect to your feeling of belonging, when it comes to SMH. But it also sounds like you don’t think you’re a dude. Do you think nonbinary fits? You don’t have to know yet. I mean, or ever. But like, it’s your first semester. You’ve got so much time to figure things out.” 

“I, um, I might be nonbinary? I just—we had a floor meeting tonight and my RA kept calling us ‘ladies’ and ‘girls’ and it made me sick to my stomach, you know?”

“That’s against the RA code of conduct,” Byron says immediately. 

“What?” 

“I’m an RA. We literally have a line about not using gendered nouns when addressing our residents as a group in the code of conduct. Who’s your RA?”

Larissa shifts in her seat. “I don’t want to rat her out.”

“But—” Byron cuts himself off, runs a hand through his hair, and sighs. “Okay. Okay, I won’t pursue that if you don’t want me to. But if you change your mind, or if it happens again, you can do something about it, okay? And I can help, if you want me to.”

“Okay,” says Larissa. 

“But back to you,” says Byron. “It sounds like thinking about gender identity stuff is kind of new for you. Which is totally legit—it’s your first year of college, and even if it weren’t, everyone goes at their own pace. Do you want to try different pronouns or something? I could model what that sounds like for you right now, or you can have some time to think about it.” 

“Can you maybe show me what it sounds like?”

“Sure,” says Byron, leaning forward and lowering his voice. “This is Larissa. They’re an awesome beatboxer and SMH is lucky to have them as a member. They’re studying art and they’re friends with Adam and Justin. They texted me tonight to ask if we could talk.” He sits back a bit in his seat. “That’s what it sounds like. How did that feel?”

Larissa isn’t sure what this feeling is, but there’s a lot of it. “I—I don’t know. Overwhelming? I can’t tell if it’s good or bad.” 

“That’s okay,” says Byron. “You don’t have to know now. You can keep thinking about it for as long as you want. I learned how to help someone change their preferred name and pronouns in the school system during RA training, so I can help you with that if you decide you want to go that route, if you want help. Or not. It’s your call. And remember, there’s no timeline for this and no right or wrong answer. Just whatever feels good, whenever that becomes clear.” 

“Thanks,” says Larissa. 

“I should’ve probably asked this before, but how do you feel about being called ‘dude’ and ‘bro’ and stuff like that? I do it to most people—well, most peers, anyway—but I know a trans girl who asked me to stop because it made her dysphoric, and you’re obviously in a different situation than that, but I figured maybe I should ask.” 

“‘Dude’ and ‘bro’ are fine,” says Larissa, feeling pretty sure about that, at least.

“‘Fine’ like tolerable or ‘fine’ like good?”

“‘Fine’ like good,” Larissa replies.

“Cool,” says Byron. “We can change topics if that’s all you wanted, or we can keep talking about gender stuff. Also, if you want, like, stuff to read on the topic, I know of a few helpful books and websites, and I know who to ask to find more.” 

Larissa puts her head in her hands. “Ugh, this is so overwhelming.” 

“Sorry,” says Byron. “One last question and then I promise we can change topics.” 

“Okay,” says Larissa. 

“I should keep this to myself for now, right?” Byron asks. “If you want to tell SMH or change things in the school’s record-keeping system or whatever, I can help with that, but that feels like not the vibe right now, which is totally legit.” 

“Yeah, please don’t tell anyone yet,” says Larissa. 

“Sure,” says Byron. 

Larissa spends a lot of time thinking about gender in the next few weeks. She learns some things from the websites Byron sends her and some more things from other websites she finds on her own. She toys with the term demigirl, and the term agender, and the term genderfluid. She spends a few afternoons wondering if she’s a trans guy after all. She takes a few anonymous surveys, unrelated to any of this, and selects “Third gender/other” rather than “Woman” when asked about her gender, but she doesn’t talk to anyone other than Byron about it. 

She continues to love SMH and especially her little mini-rehearsals with Adam and Justin. She loves that she’s one of them—one of the guys. And then they perform their winter concert, and afterward all the audience members who speak to her—other than Claire and AJ, who came specifically for her, to cheer her on—ask how she got into SMH as a girl or comment on how she’s “good at beatboxing, for a girl.” After maybe ten minutes of this, Larissa ducks out behind the music building because she can’t hold the tears in anymore. 

A couple minutes after she stepped outside—which she’s really starting to regret, since she didn’t grab her coat—the door opens behind her. Larissa glances around wildly for somewhere to hide, resigns herself to the fact that she can’t and she’ll therefore have to interact with whoever it is, and turns around to find herself face-to-face with Jack, who’s holding her coat and wearing his own. 

“You’re crying. Do you want to talk about it?” Jack asks, handing Larissa her coat. 

Larissa almost says no as she shrugs the coat on, but she remembers Byron’s phone background, that picture of Byron and Jack beaming at the camera. Anyone who Byron cares about like that is probably safe to talk to about this. Plus, though Larissa hasn’t Googled Jack Zimmermann, Adam and Justin definitely have, and as such Larissa knows a good deal more about Jack’s past than he probably wants her to. Larissa isn’t sure she _likes_ Jack, but she’s pretty sure she can trust him. 

“Maybe?” she says. “I don’t want you to tell anyone else, though.” 

Jack bites his lip. “I get wanting to keep some things private, and I’m not a mandated reporter like Byron because I’m not an RA. But if you’re in danger or someone’s hurting you, I’m not going to keep a secret if I think that’ll put you at further risk.” 

“I’m safe, I promise,” says Larissa. “And I’ve already talked to Byron about this, but he’s the only one who knows. But I think I’m okay with you knowing, too. I’m just not ready to tell, like, everyone, at least not yet.” 

Jack nods. “Okay.” 

“So I think I’m nonbinary,” Larissa says. “I’m not totally sure, and it’s not something I’d ever heard of prior to Samwell, but—everyone back there was talking about me being a girl, and it sucked.” 

“Oh,” says Jack, and Larissa suddenly remembers that he’s the one who put _Samwell Men’s Harmonies_ on the audition posters, against the advice of Byron and John. 

“If you’ve got a problem with that, I—” 

“No!” says Jack. “Sorry, I’m awful with words, and knowing when I’m expected to talk, and all that. But like, I’m sorry it sucked back there. Your first concert should be a happy memory, and the audience should say things that make you feel good, and I’m sorry that’s not how it went for you tonight. I want you to feel comfortable in SMH, and I’ve probably fucked that up in the past—especially at the beginning—and I’m sorry for that.” 

Larissa nods. “Apology accepted.” 

“You’re shivering,” Jack notes. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Sure?” says Larissa. She’s surprised when Jack starts walking with her, away from the music building. “Aren’t you going back to your adoring fans?” she asks him. 

Jack chuckles. “I hate facing people who have seen me perform, actually. Byron makes it tolerable, but only barely.” 

“Is that because of what happened with hockey?” Larissa asks before she can stop herself. 

Jack sighs. “Can we pretend you don’t know about that?”

“Sorry,” says Larissa. “I never Googled you, but Adam and Justin did, and they told me.” She feels a bit bad throwing them under the bus, but she doesn’t want Jack to be mad at her. 

“That sounds about right,” says Jack. “I know I can’t fully escape what I did as a teenager, but Samwell has felt like a fresh start in a lot of ways. I do different things here than I ever did before, and it feels good to do them, and I like how most people don’t know who I am or who my parents are.”

“That’s fair,” says Larissa. “It makes sense. You’re allowed to want to start over.”

“So are you,” says Jack. “If you want to reintroduce yourself to the group, with a different name or different pronouns or whatever, you can do that at the party tomorrow or at the first rehearsal next semester.” 

“I don’t think I’m ready yet, but thanks,” says Larissa. 

“No problem,” says Jack. 

Larissa goes home for winter break a week later and winds up crying themself to sleep the first time they see their extended family, and that’s how they know they’re not a girl and they need to switch pronouns. Their grandparents and aunts and uncles all keep telling them what a lovely and mature young woman they’ve become, and it hurts more and differently than being gendered by random audience members at an SMH concert. Larissa’s definitely not ready to come out to their family, but something needs to give.

They text Byron the next morning for support and find out that he literally lives half an hour away from them, so they tell their parents they’re going to meet a college friend and then head to a coffee shop midway between their respective homes. It’s an unremarkable non-date, but Byron makes them laugh and gives them faith that they can get through the rest of winter break, and he promises that when they return to Samwell he’ll help them update their information and come out to SMH, and things will get better. 

Larissa decides to go back to Samwell the day the dorms reopen, which is two days before classes start, and they book a haircut for the morning that they’ll go back. They spend a lot of time looking at pictures of women with pixie cuts and pageboy haircuts, as well as pictures of men with short hair, trying to figure out how to describe what they want. It helps that Samwell has an unofficial-official Look called The Chop, which involves shaved sides and a bit more hair on top. After a lot of internal debate, Larissa decides they want The Chop, and they compile several pictures to bring to the appointment to explain to the hairdresser exactly what it should look like. 

Byron catches wind of Larissa’s plan to head back to campus a bit early, and he decides to do the same. The two of them grab dinner their first night back in the nearly deserted dining hall during the one hour it’s open (holiday hours are always like this, Byron assures Larissa), and then they head back to Byron’s dorm afterward. Larissa doesn’t want to be alone right now, and besides, Byron offered to help them change their pronouns in the school’s online system.

The two of them are sitting on Byron’s bed, sharing Larissa’s laptop, when Byron asks, “Is there a name you’d rather go by, while we’re in here? I mean, I’m sure you could figure out how to get back to this form on your own, and I could show you again if you forget, but it might be easier to switch everything at once, and the beginning of the semester is a good time for that. But no pressure, if you haven’t figured it out yet.” 

Larissa runs a hand through their newly short hair and sighs. “I hate going by Larissa, on some level, but it also feels like my name. And I’ve thought about ways to try to preserve part of it, like by keeping the same first few letters or something, but Lars makes me sound Scandinavian, which I’m definitely not, and Larry doesn’t even really preserve the sound I’m looking for. Plus it’s just a gross name. And there just aren’t a ton of masculine names that start with L. Like, what, am I supposed to go by Linus? I’m not a Peanut. So I feel kind of stuck.” 

Byron’s staring off into the distance like he sometimes does when he’s thinking. After several long moments, he says, “What about a nickname? I’m thinking something based on Larissa but, like, really fratty-sounding.” 

“Do you have something specific in mind?”

“Maybe? You might hate it, though.” 

Larissa shrugs. “That’s no different than how I feel about any of my other options right now, so shoot.” 

“Lardo? Or Lards. Or both. Either.” Byron sounds nervous. 

“You’re right,” says Larissa. “That’s the frattiest-sounding name I’ve ever heard. I think I love it.” 

“Really?” Byron asks, hopeful now. 

Larissa nods. “It’s on the masculine side, but like, it’s not actually a guy’s name. It’s a nickname, and it makes it sound like I could kick your ass in beer pong, which I can. It sounds like college and guys and drinking games and all that shit that’s exactly where I am right now. Which I guess means it might not be what I want to go by forever, but for right now, yeah. Call me Lardo. Or Lards. But like, yeah. You’re brilliant and I want those names.” 

“You got it, Lards,” Byron replies, and Lardo feels something in their chest expand. 

“Although,” says Lardo, “I think I’ll feel a little more comfortable going by something so, like, off-the-wall if someone else does something similar. How would you feel about getting a nickname yourself?”

“ _Please_ ,” says Byron. “Oh my fucking God, my name is shitty. I’ve been wanting to replace it for ages.” 

Lardo’s eyes are glittering suddenly. “That’s it! Your name is Shitty!” 

“We already knew that, Lards,” says Byron.

“No,” Lardo says, shaking their head. “Like, you should go by Shitty. As your new name.” 

“Oh my fucking God!” yells Byron. “Lardo, you fucking beaut! Yes! I’m Shitty!”

Lardo looks at the form in front of them. “Are we actually doing this?”

“Preferred name policies are a beautiful thing,” says Shitty. “I mean, you don’t have to, but I’m game if you are. Shitty’s more likely to get flagged as inappropriate than Lardo, but I think I can make a solid case to the registrar that there isn’t a policy against profane preferred names and it would be discriminatory to put that kind of a policy in place retroactively in order to deny me my preferred name.” 

Lardo is pretty impressed with that line of logic. “Are you going to be a lawyer or something?”

“That’s the plan,” Shitty replies. “ACLU, here I come. So, putting Lardo on the form. Yes or no?”

“Yes.” 

Shitty’s right about the registrar flagging his new name but not Lardo’s. The registrar actually thinks Shitty’s been pranked and someone else stole his password and tried to change his preferred name, and they’re rather aghast when Shitty reveals he made the change himself, but Shitty successfully argues his case. In the end, the registrar agrees to update his name to Shitty on internal documents, though they also tell him that professors who are uncomfortable swearing in front of their classes may call him Mr. Knight. 

Lardo goes back and forth about whether they’re going to introduce themself to their new professors and classmates with they/them pronouns—that’s what’s in the school’s online system, but professors don’t always check that information or share it with the class. They’re pretty sure they want their classmates to use they/them pronouns for them, but it’s only been a couple of months since they started seriously considering switching pronouns, and they don’t want to be overly hasty—but one of the dining hall employees calls them “young lady” the day before classes start, and it hurts badly enough that they know they have to find the courage to introduce themself properly. (They also have to drag Shitty away by his shirt to prevent him from giving the dining hall employee a lecture. They’re going to need to talk to him about letting them decide which battles are worth fighting.) So Lardo introduces themself to their new classes with they/them pronouns. Everyone seems cool with that, but then, this is Samwell, after all. Their new name earns them a few raised eyebrows, but nobody actually says anything. 

Lardo realizes that they need to re-introduce themself to SMH as well. They know the guys and they know everyone will be cool with them being a them, but at the same time, do they really _know_ that? The prospect of being rejected by a member of SMH is much scarier than the prospect of being rejected by a classmate or professor they’ve just met. After a whole semester of making music together, what if someone decides that they don’t believe nonbinary identities are real and they don’t like Lardo after all? (Well, Shitty will beat up whoever it is, that’s what if. But the point stands.) So they take the easy way out and text the group chat. 

Lardo: _just an fyi, i’m nonbinary and i’d like you all to call me lardo or lards now, rather than larissa_

Lardo: _and please use they/them pronouns for me rather than she/her_

John: _congratulations on figuring this out about yourself, lardo!_

Jack: _Lardo, I’m proud of you. Everybody else, make an effort with Lardo’s name and pronouns or I WILL find a way to replace you on SMH._

Lardo: _thanks, jack._

Justin: _Lardo, you’re a swawesome friend and beatboxer and I’m proud of you for figuring this out and sharing it with us!_

Adam: _What he said!_

Shitty: _Also Lardo and I decided to rename each other, and my name is now Shitty. I’m just as serious about this as Lardo is about their name and we both changed our names in the school’s computer system. (My pronouns are still he/him, though.)_

Jack: _Byron, WHAT?_

John: _he’s serious, bro._

Jack: _Sorry, Shitty. I’m just . . . surprised. Although less so now that I think about it._

Shitty: _No worries, Jack._

It goes better than Lardo expects. The SMH guys are mostly really good with their name and pronouns within a week of being asked to switch, and their classmates and professors do well too. Their roommate says some transphobic things when Lardo tells them (“I wanted to room with a girl” is among the milder ones), but Lardo asks their RA Katherine for help, and after a long conversation with Katherine the roommate apologizes and seems genuinely sorry. Lardo still doesn’t like her, but they don’t have the energy to stay all that mad, so they don’t ask to move rooms, and gradually their roommate starts to get the hang of their name and pronouns. 

Lardo isn’t sure when they’re going to work up the courage to tell their parents, let alone their extended family, but for now they live at Samwell and get to be Lardo. They take art classes and gen eds and go to parties and sing in SMH, and it’s a good life. They love being friends with Adam and Justin, and they’re getting to the point where they think they can say they’re friends with Jack, too. Even though college has its stressors, they’re having a really good second semester. 

There’s just one thing they don’t have that they’re starting to daydream about. And they’re not sure they’d even actually want it if it were right in front of them, but as a daydream, it’s nice. And that’s a romantic relationship with Shitty. The reason they’re not sure if they actually want it is that they think he might be straight, and even though they’re not a man they’re also sufficiently not a woman that a relationship with a straight guy wouldn’t feel good. 

It’s hard to work out what Shitty wants, in all of this. He’s a great friend, at the very least, but it’s hard to tell if he means something more when he’s kind to Lardo because he’s also unbelievably kind to Jack and, increasingly, to Adam and Justin as well. Lardo loves spending time with him—is beginning to suspect that they just love _him_ —but it’s also starting to hurt, just a tiny bit, hanging out with him and joking around and not knowing how he feels. 

Meanwhile, Adam gets the solo on an arrangement John makes of “Don’t Stop Me Now” by Queen, which complicates the mini-rehearsals Lardo, Adam, and Justin usually have, because there’s no one to sing the backing tenor part. Plus, the baritone and bass parts aren’t all that similar, so to rehearse the whole song properly would require a baritone in addition to another tenor. 

After some discussion, Lardo, Adam, and Justin decide to ask Shitty and Jack to join their mini-rehearsals (which are now at 1 p.m. on Mondays due to schedule changes). Shitty and Jack are game, so the five of them start cramming into a practice room to rehearse every Monday afternoon. As long as Shitty and Jack are there to rehearse “Don’t Stop Me Now,” everyone figures they might as well rehearse SMH’s whole second-semester set—or as much of it as they can fit into an hour—so they do. With Jack present, things are a little more serious than they were at these rehearsals first semester, and Lardo misses the more light-hearted atmosphere a bit, but the bonus time with Shitty outweighs the seriousness (plus, Shitty can usually keep Jack from acting too serious). 

After one of the run-throughs of "Don't Stop Me Now," during which Adam absolutely kills it, Adam wipes his forehead and says, "That song is so queer."

Lardo freezes. So, they note, does Shitty. It's Jack who asks, "What do you mean?" His voice is all forced Canadian politeness. 

"In one verse it's 'I want to make a supersonic man out of you,' and in the other verse it's 'woman' rather than 'man,'" Adam replies. 

"Yeah, well, Freddie Mercury was queer, so that makes sense," says Shitty, voice tight and almost aggressive. 

"I know," says Adam. 

"What's your point, Adam?" Jack asks, tone slipping rapidly toward snappish. 

Adam rolls his eyes. "My _point_ is that I'm bisexual and it's fun to sing a song full of innuendos and have it not just be about women."

"Oh," says Jack, as he, Shitty, and Lardo all relax. 

"Wait, did you think I was saying I had a problem with that? I do theater! Lardo is one of my best friends! Even if I were straight, how the _hell_ would I have a problem with people being queer?" Adam's loud now, gesturing wildly. 

Jack looks beseechingly at Shitty, who holds up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, brah," says Shitty. "It's just hard to be logical about this stuff when it's personal."

"Wait, are you . . . ?" Adam starts to ask.

"Bi? Yeah," says Shitty. 

"That's the majority of the room, then," says Jack quietly. 

Everyone stares at Jack—including Shitty, Lardo is a little surprised to notice. "Jack, you glorious motherfucker," Shitty marvels, "really?"

"Yep," Jack replies.

"We're at least at eighty percent of the room, in that case," says Justin. 

"Bro!" Adam yells. 

"Make it a hundred percent," says Lardo. 

"What are the fucking odds," says Shitty. "We're seriously all bisexual?"

Everyone else nods, and then Justin holds up a hand and says, "High five?"

"More like _bi_ five," says Adam, slapping Justin's hand. 

"That's it! That's us! We're the bi five!" Shitty shouts.

"Oh my God, we totally are," Lardo replies, laughing, and then everyone is high fiving and laughing and slapping each other on the back. 

The mini-rehearsal ends when Justin has to get to lab, Adam has Macroeconomics, and Jack has Nineteenth-Century America. That leaves Lardo and Shitty as the last to exit the practice room. Lardo uncaps their water bottle and walks to the filling station by the bathrooms to refill it. When they finish refilling their water bottle, they're surprised to see Shitty lounging against the nearest pillar. 

"What are you still doing here?" Lardo asks. 

"I was wondering if I could keep hanging out with you. If you want to study together or whatever."

"I was actually planning on heading to the pottery studio. Intro to Ceramics is kicking my ass. But you can bring your homework and do it there, if you want."

"You sure?" Shitty asks. "I don't want you to feel like you have to say yes."

"I don't," says Lardo. "The fact that I know you'd take 'no' for an answer is part of why I'm saying yes."

Shitty beams.

Lardo can't take the full wattage of his smile, not when they've just come out to each other, not when they know he's bi. Before they can overthink it, they say, "Can I ask you a question?"

"For sure, Lards."

"Would you want to go out with me?"

"Oh my fucking God, yes," says Shitty. 

Lardo blinks. "Cool. If I'd known this would be so easy, I'd have asked you a couple months ago."

"Right back at you," says Shitty. 

Lardo's face heats up. "Seriously?"

"Yeah! In case you haven't noticed, you're pretty much the coolest."

Lardo ducks their head. "Thanks."

They walk together to the art studio because Lardo has a project due soon, and then Shitty has to go to class, but they agree to meet up for dinner, and it's just the cafeteria but it's nice to eat just the two of them. It feels kind of like when they came back early from winter break, but they know each other quite a bit better now than they did then, and Lardo's significantly more comfortable with Shitty by this point. Not that they were _uncomfortable_ with him before, but they're getting to the point where they'd trust him with just about anything. 

After dinner, they head back to Shitty's dorm to make out—it turns out he texted his roommate to ask to have the room until ten p.m. ("Not that we have to do anything! You can go back to your dorm, or we can go back to mine and just study or whatever. I just thought I'd like to be prepared. In case you were down. Which you totally don't have to be.") Lardo is down but sets the ground rules: all clothes stay on and no touching their chest. They dated a bit in high school and have been shirtless with a significant other before, but they never particularly enjoyed it. They're pretty sure, looking back, that they're at least a bit dysphoric about their chest, and knowing someone was appreciating their boobs never felt good. 

Lardo wasn't totally sure how they'd feel about kissing Shitty, given his mustache, but it turns out to feel really nice after the first couple minutes of adjusting to it. He's less sloppily enthusiastic than they'd worried, more practiced and finessed. He doesn't make them feel small or fragile, either. It's good. Better than good. 

When Lardo is collecting their things and preparing to leave, Shitty looks up at them from his seat on the bed and says, "Facebook official: yes, no, or maybe later?"

"Um, maybe later? Like, almost certainly later. I just think some people deserve to hear from us individually first. Like, I don't think my mom wants to find out I have a boyfriend via Facebook. And I'd rather tell the SMH guys in person, too. You can backdate this shit on Facebook, I'm pretty sure, so if we change our relationship statuses next week after we've told people, we can put in today as the relationship's start date." Lardo pauses. "I'm planning on calling you my boyfriend, unless you object, but what am I to you? I don't want to be anyone's girlfriend, not even yours."

"What do you want to be?"

Lardo makes a face. "I don't know. I want to be the person you're dating, but I'm barely 19 and 'partner' sounds like we're married or some shit, so I don't want that. Significant other? S.O.?"

"Cool," says Shitty. "I've also heard datemate, as a term. If you want to use that."

"Meh," says Lardo. 

"Okay," says Shitty. 

"You know you're allowed to have opinions, right?" Lardo asks. "I appreciate that you're into consent and respecting my right to define myself and make my own decisions, but if we're going to do a relationship thing, I want you to tell me what you want, too."

"Oh."

Lardo kisses him on the forehead. "Cool. Good talk. Dinner tomorrow?"

He nods. "Dinner tomorrow."

The next night, after eating dinner with Shitty, Lardo calls their parents. Their parents ask worriedly if they're okay, since they usually only call on weekends, and it's a Tuesday. "I'm doing well," they assure their parents. "I just wanted to let you know that I've started dating someone. I'm going to put it on Facebook soon, but I figured you'd rather hear it from me directly."

"Who is it?" their mother asks. "How did you meet?"

"We met in that singing group I told you about. He's a sophomore," they say. "It's kind of a long story, but his name is Shitty. I mean, that's not what his parents named him, but it's what he likes to go by." Shitty has changed his Facebook name, whereas Lardo's account is still under the name Larissa. They're Facebook friends with a lot of older relatives and they're just not sure they're ready to explain their Samwell self to so much family.

"Why would he choose such a rude name?" Lardo's father asks. 

"He didn't like his old name, and he—I guess the best way to explain it is that he likes to make people think and challenge their assumptions. If it's possible to be rude and kind at the same time, that's what he is."

"Is he good to you?" Lardo's mother asks. 

"Very," Lardo affirms. 

"That's what matters, I suppose," their mother replies. 

Shitty suggests announcing their relationship status in the SMH group chat, but Lardo figures SMH deserves to hear in person, so Lardo and Shitty decide to show up a little early to rehearsal on Thursday to tell people without taking too much time away from Jack's scheduled practice. When they arrive, it turns out Jack, John, and Adam are already there, planning warmups and working on Adam's solo. Justin is sitting in the corner staring at a textbook. Adam waves without pausing when Shitty and Lardo walk in. 

"What's up?" John asks once Adam gets to the end of "Don't Stop Me Now."

"We have some news, actually," says Shitty. 

"We're dating," Lardo adds before anyone can start guessing. 

"'Swawesome!" yells Adam, running over and hugging both Shitty and Lardo at the same time. Jack and John follow at a slower pace, and then Justin is there too, and they're all trying to get their arms around each other, and it's good. 

One of the upperclassmen walks in while the group hug is still going and asks, "What's going on?"

"Shitty and Lardo are dating!" calls Adam. 

"Oh! Congrats, bros!" says the guy. 

Rehearsal is still hard, since Jack is running it, but Lardo and Shitty keep stealing glances at each other, which makes it more fun than usual (and rehearsal was never that bad, even in the fall). After rehearsal, they head to Shitty's dorm to make out for a while before Lardo returns to their own dorm to finish a paper and go to bed. 

The next week at the bi five's mini-rehearsal, Jack says, "Before we sing, actually, I have something I want to talk to you about."

"Is everything okay?" Shitty asks. 

"Yeah, everything is fine," Jack replies. "So, my parents and I have been talking about something. I've lived in singles the past two years, and I think that was the right call. I don't think I'd do well with a roommate. But I'd love to live closer to the people I care about, and, well, the four of you are my favorite people at Samwell. So I was wondering if you'd like to live in a house together next year."

Justin makes a face. "I'd love to, bro, but I'm on an academic scholarship and it only covers on-campus housing."

Jack smiles sheepishly. "My parents actually bought the house already. So, like, no need to pay rent or whatever."

"Are you serious?" Adam asks. 

"There's five of us and four bedrooms, if you count the attic—it's insulated; don't worry—so I figured, Adam and Justin, you two could keep being roommates and take the attic. Unless—Lardo and Shitty, would you like to share a room instead?"

"I actually don't think I'm in," Lardo replies. "It sounds like an awesome idea, but what's between Shitty and me is way too new for us to live together, even in different rooms of the same house. Like, Shitty, I trust you and I don't want to break up with you and even if we do break up I believe you'll be a good ex, but I'm not ready to bet my housing situation on it yet. Sorry."

"Hey, you have nothing to apologize for," says Shitty. "If you don't want to live with me, then you shouldn't live with me."

"Thanks," says Lardo, knowing both that they don't actually need to thank Shitty and that they're incredibly relieved at his response.

"So maybe we could each have a bedroom?" Jack suggests. "If the rest of you are in, I mean."

Adam and Justin exchange a look. "I think we'd rather still share the attic, if that's okay," Adam says while Justin nods. 

"You sure?" Jack asks. 

"Yeah," says Justin. "Adam's really good at dealing with my anxiety, and it's hard for me to reach out sometimes, so sharing a room is good."

"Oh," says Jack, reaching over and squeezing Justin's shoulder. "I'm sorry you have to deal with that, but I'm glad you have Adam." He removes his hand from Justin's shoulder, clears his throat, and says, "So, that leaves a bedroom free. How would you all feel about living with John? He's definitely the upperclassman I'm closest to, and I think limiting our housemates to SMH members makes sense. "

Shitty, Adam, and Justin nod. "We like John," says Adam. 

"Cool," says Jack. "Adam, do you want to play warmups?"

Adam nods again and takes a seat at the piano. 

After the mini-rehearsal, Shitty asks Lardo, "Sorry, should I have given up my spot in the house so you could live there? I didn't even realize until just now that there was another solution, if you specifically just don't want to live with me."

"No," says Lardo. "You and Jack are best friends. Besides, my art friend Claire and I have been talking about getting a room on the gender-neutral floor of Harrison. We can reevaluate this in a year, but for now I feel good about you living with Jack and me living with Claire. Besides, if you and Justin and Adam and Jack all live in a house together, I'm going to be there all the time. And if you and I keep dating, I bet we'll both really enjoy you not having a roommate."

"Okay, good," says Shitty. "I'm still sorry that didn't occur to me sooner, but I'm glad I didn't totally screw up."

The rest of the spring flies by, and soon it's time for SMH's spring concert. Adam enthralls the audience with his rendition of "Don't Stop Me Now," and the rest of the songs are hits as well. Lardo stays off to the side, out of the spotlight, laying down the beat, just the way they prefer it. This semester they wear a sports bra and a button-down to the concert, and between that and their still-short hair (they've been getting monthly haircuts) they don't get gendered so much by the audience afterward. Their height is probably always going to seem feminine to people, but at least at Samwell some people seem to be picking up on their "not a girl" vibe. 

At the party the next night, Lardo dances with Shitty for a while before demolishing Adam and Justin in beer pong. They burp in Adam's face afterward, which they might feel weird about later, but to their drunk mind it makes perfect sense as a mark of respect. 

The night after finals end, John texts the SMH group chat, inviting everyone to join him on the roof of the music building. Apparently it's an SMH tradition. Lardo is already at Shitty's when the text comes through, so the two of them walk there together. Fairly soon after everyone arrives, most of the upperclassmen cluster together, leaving John and the bi five to form their own circle. 

"I just want to thank all of you for an amazing year," Jack says. "John, thank you for helping with auditions, and for finding all those arrangements, and for convincing Lardo to try out. Shitty, thanks for being my rudder and the air in my sails—for never letting me give into my worst impulses, with myself or with others. Adam, thank you for playing warmups. Lardo, thanks for having patience with me and for trusting all of us. Justin, thank you for being so organized and for helping keep us all on track. You're all amazing and I'm looking forward to living with most of you next year, and continuing to sing with all of you."

Shitty, who's sitting between Lardo and Jack, drops Lardo's hand in order to give Jack a side-hug. "Thank _you_. Got your back, brother." 

"I've got yours, too," Jack replies. "All of you."

Lardo trusts him. They're not sure how this summer will go or if they can be out while living with their parents and working as a host at a restaurant, but this, here, is a family too. 

They all stay on the roof of the music building until two a.m., and then they finally scatter, yawning uncontrollably. Since Lardo's roommate has already left for the summer, Lardo brings Shitty back to their dorm, and the two of them fall asleep together for the first time in Lardo's twin XL, Lardo wearing a boxy T-shirt and athletic shorts; Shitty in his boxers. Lardo hopes they can do this frequently next year.

**Author's Note:**

> [This is the version of "Don't Stop Me Now" that I picture SMH singing](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G2yp32OFB8E), more or less.


End file.
